(Workin' on de books where) I gon tell you stories - true, true stories - like me gran'pa and me nanee and cha cha used to do, and they ancestors too.
Take half, leave half, cry or laff, enjoy the gyaff. What you learn is up to you.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

The things I saw last Thursday.

“Look, look!” I exclaim. “She still fresh, a li’l bit grey here and there, but clean in most parts.”

Just before World Cup cricket this year, the mountain-mama statue of Queen Victoria on we courthouse lawn get a thorough scrubbing. Young fellas with long handle brushes work on she, up and down and in between the folds of she robe.

“Heh, I wonder if she did like it…wiggle, giggle…oooh, boyyyys, nauughtyyy.”

As per normal, my mother ain’t boonks on me…that is, she remain impervious to my [delightful] chatter. We walk on along the corridor of the courthouse, looking for the room where we must be.

What a change, what a glorious change. Up to a couple o’ years ago Poverty been weaving cobwebs in greasy corners, flinging thin dust on them walls, peeling paint and nibbling at wood beams. Now, the whole place look like somebody take a broom and swish hard, make Poverty haul up she bony tail and drab dress and go lurk somewhere else.

“My word,” my mother exclaim to a clerk passing. “You all did such a wonderful makeover to this place I don’t even recognise it.” [And you think I does exaggerate!] Clerk smile.

I peep through the glass of a door, into a courtroom. “Look, look, that fella them girls been talking about some months ago, the one they say is handsome but is a dawg, he don’t know how to talk to people.” I drag my mother unceremoniously to peep too. Embarrassment all over she face. “Man, I don’t want to see.”

I gape like curious visitor to a museum at ye handsome dawg. Flap, flap, flap, he mouth flapping-flapping to three lawyers. Though he ain’t wear he robe I can sense that he is a vampire, but he ain’t got to be afraid of sunlight, he head is in a dark place. Flap-flap-flap, then he raise he hand and point he finger like them preacher-men on tee vee, poke the air, jab, jook. “Oh, he is a pointificator,” I say.

We move on, searching for we court room. We had a case going for eons, somebody owe somebody who owe – that kinda tale. Me bahind didn’t get corned waiting today though. We lawyer – a patient, kind fella who always show plenty respect to me and ma - turn up very soon. He explain that the case get put off, the somebody who owe somebody ain’t turn up. Court give we another date. Ah yes, to some things return, turn, turn…turn the calendar over for another year, another month, another week, another date, churn churn churn the same ole trubbles, year after year.

We go down to the foyer. I swear that crusty olde cigarette butt on the floor been there last year. Smoking in the courthouse ain’t verboten in we wooden building, and funny…not funny haha…funny strange…eye never spy fire extinguishers or red buckets o’ sand. One time, a lawyer been smoking in front of me, in a courtroom. I cough. Asthma, I explain. The smoker shift two inches off, as if that token gesture was a big deal.

Me and ma sit in we car. “Look!” I exclaim. “The Big Lawyer for the somebody who fighting the somebody who owe we.”

I does always remember what a security guard of a bond tell me about he. Last year I meet this guard after she ask me not to park in front of the bond gate. I move the car to the next spot and gone me way. Later, when I come back, the guard tell me thanks. She say trucks with goods does use that gate, and she bosses does give she hell if anybody block the entrance. She say one time she ask this Big Lawyer not to park in that spot. He shout at she saying this is public property.

“I know that, Sir,” she say, “but I’m asking you kindly to park in the next spot right near there.” And she say, “What you would do if somebody block your entrance and exit?”

He tell she they dare not do that, he would know how to deal with them.

This lawyer is one o’ them prominent ones. He instill fear in people by just being. There. He big like a ox, got a face like a furious owl. But now, slow, slow, he becoming a doddering olde farte. He don’t walk as thundering as he used to. As I sit in we car watching he fumble over the six-inch high concrete hump at the doorway, into the foyer, I had a vision of he lying in bed, helpless, in nappies; a stranger, a not-wealthy woman, cleaning he poo…and he mind still sharp...so he fully aware.

Oh, the wonderful things you can see when you look, look, look. Sometimes I see with the eyes of a true, gloomy Cassandra but sometimes I see like Pollyanna sipping ice-cold swank...ice-cold sour lime and sugar and water drink...in the shade on a hot-hot day.

Hi Kamal, would you believe, I don't have a clue what you look like. But a little bird told me that you're one of the sweetest people around...she said you write beautiful English...which is true...and you're such a nice guy. Stay sweet!

Arrogant parkers always get their comeuppance. There used to be a no parking sign opposite an office I used to work in in Australia. Nobody who actually worked there ever parked in the no parking zone - because we knew what could happen. But occasionally visitors would get a little arrogant and park there.

One day a little Hyundai Excel was in the spot. A huge articulated lorry shuddered out the driveway and slowly, lurchingly, turned the tight corner onto the road. The driver, way up there in his cab, didn't even see the little Hyundai in the no parking zone. As the truck lurched forwards and around the corner, the big front wheel lurched up the front of the little car, munching through the windscreen, the roof, the back window, and down the back of the car.

I got it: a clockwork orange (neat), just like the title of a novel I haven't read and a film I saw a looong time ago. I chose the clock with stars and planets for me blog. Thank you.What you say about parking places can also be true about homes.

LOL Pat, from what I've heard, even if this young fella I saw was a pointif [and not a poIntif], he'd be a fornicator. Strange but true, this week I was wondering why some religious people go on and on about fornicating in their speeches :-D

Louis, you're a mind reader, that's what I call my blog-clock. I saw that movie, it was weeeeird but fascinating. A clock with planet and starts, I must check it out. And speaking of homes and parking...that's what I plan to write about next.

Gyal, you're so wicked! We're coming into an election year in Belize so the TV ads are raging war between the parties. Its the current crooked administration fighting the future crooked administration. For entertainment I turn the sound off and add my own dialogue. And lo and behold, the leader of the opposition looks like he's practicing to be Jesus, trying to deify himself with his hand actions. You know how actions speak louder than words. I love your stories, how you tell them so fresh. You always cheer me up.

What I originally intended to say was that it's good to see some of Georgetown's colonial relics getting a good sccrub up. I always did wonder how that statue of Queen V survived intact after independence.

Hi MB, how you doing? There are good lawyers about, but the bad ones are BAAAAD...the things that people say were done to them, shees!

I think I'm more of a twit though, Olivia :-D Speaking of colonial past, we change the names of our streets to wipe out history, it seems. Hm, what is it about mothers who ignore advise of Very Wise Children? Grumph.

Hehe, Caribbean, I'd love to see what you write about the Belize elections, poke fun at 'em, yes!